I'm stepping out of the garden today to a doggone tale at a Texas truck stop

This is a story about goodness, not gardens. I wish I had asked the couple's names, but the story's telling happened on the fly at Moscow Building Supply this week. I was at the front of the store when a small, cream-colored dog with curly fur trotted up to me and seemed to smile as it sniffed my ankles. A man hurried up to me, thanked me for catching the escapee (who had bounded out of the car without a leash,) and scooped the little guy into his arms. I gave the dog a final pat, smiled at the man and his wife and went out to the parking lot.

I hadn't reached my car when the couple and their curly cutie approached me again. “Found him at a truck stop in Texas,” the man said. “There was nobody and nothing around except the truck stop owner, who said the dog had been hanging around for four days and nobody had claimed him. A storm was blowing up and it was getting cold. I tried to catch him, but he wouldn't come to me, so I flagged down a car that pulled in and asked if they'd help me catch my dog.” His dog. I could see where this was going, and already felt the tears slipping out.

“The woman in the car said she'd help. She was little, like you,” he told me, “She got out of the car and knelt down and just put out her hand, and that dog went right to her. He was dirty and sick – and I didn't look too good myself. I'd been driving a lot of hours, hadn't shaved, my white shirt was dirty...” The long-hauler gently picked up the little dog and took him all the way home to his wife. They found good veterinary care to treat the dog's diagnosed prostate infection. “He was just peeing all the time, and I think maybe that's why somebody dropped him off at the truck stop. They just couldn't take care of him,” the dog's rescuer said.

“I sure didn't want a damn poodle,” he said. His plan was to get the dog bathed and healthy, and then find him a home within a week. I couldn't help grinning. And how long ago was that? I asked. He and his wife both laughed. “About ten years,” he said, “and nobody could take him away from me now.” I said they were wonderful people, and their dog was a very lucky guy. We waved to each other as we went to our cars, but I didn't turn on the engine right away. I had to keep wiping my eyes for awhile. In my mind, I kept seeing a small, abandoned dog, hungry, sick, and shivering, dumped like trash at a truck stop in Texas. His fur must have been badly matted and his hope nearly gone. Maybe his former owner was a man who scared him – or worse – because the little guy prefers women, the rescuer's wife told me, smiling. Ten years down, it's more than clear there's one man that well fed, fluffy and confident little dog trusts and adores.

Many of the faithful readers of this column love animals as much as I do. I hope this happy ending warmed your heart as much as it did mine. So let's just rock on with another animal update, involving a milestone birthday for a beloved member of the Rozen menagerie. Benjamin BadKitten turned ten years old on Labor Day, the least appropriate holiday imaginable for my chief-garden-staffer-in-exile. He was fired for doing no labor in my garden (except for using it as his personal privy.) He has no chores for which he is responsible in our home, but excels at creating more work for me. (Vacuuming cat hair off his chair, cleaning up when his sensitive tummy cannot digest a mouse, sweeping up the leaves he brings in from outdoors.)

For all his flaws, Benjamin's value to our family shines when he's with our frail and elderly Old English sheepdog, Rags. This week, my husband and I were reading in the living room when I whispered, “Look at those two.” Rags lay on the rug, with his shaggy chin resting on top of Benjamin's head. BBK was sprawled across Rags' front paws, offering friendship and comfort, and willing to lie patiently while the big guy used him as a pillow. This is one of the reasons I tell the beloved birthday cat that he is the best little BadKitten that ever there was.